Hope for the Best
by bisexualcharliedavis
Summary: "Charlie." She said, introducing the child to him "This is William. He's a friend of your father's." The grey eyes look up at him, and he looks back into them. Apparently, the child is not used to anyone looking back at him with the intensity that he looks at them because it only takes him a moment to look away again, hiding his tiny face in his mother's skirt.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: **whelp. Here it is. Something amazing. Not really. Here's a cool AU idea I had and then decided to right. What if:MUNRO was Charlie's dad. Well, here it is. Leave a review if you liked it!**

Everyone knew that Richard Davis had been dead for a long time before he was finally buried.

William Munro included. He watches them lower the coffin into the ground, it's shiny brown surface reflecting their sad faces. He looks across as Richard's wife, and lets out a soft sigh. Funerals are miserable, he thinks, before he can feel eyes on him. He'd always had a sixth sense about that. Knew when people were looking at him.

His own eyes find a pair of grey ones, grim ones set in a small face. After several moments, he crosses to his mother, and gently touches her on the arm. Astra gave him a teary look. "Oh William." She said, softly. He pulls her into a hug, for a moment, before releasing him. The small arms around her knee stay firmly attached. "Charlie." She said, introducing the child to him "This is William. He's a friend of your father's." The grey eyes look up at him, and he looks back into them. Apparently, the child is not used to anyone looking back at him with the intensity that he looks at them because it only takes him a moment to look away again, hiding his tiny face in his mother's skirt. William smiled slightly and crouched down to speak with him.  
"Hello." He said softly. Charlie looks even further away. He stands back up and looks at Charlie's mother. "I'm not sure he likes me." He said, attempting to joke. Mrs Davis offers him nothing in response. She was a grim young woman at the best of times.

It was easy for him to see why Richard would have fallen for her. She was tall and thin, with a strong chin. Her high cheekbones and blue eyes almost detracted from the slight speckling of poc marks on her cheeks from a childhood bout of chicken pox. He'd met her twice before. Once, when he went to dinner at Richard's house, and once just after Charlie was born. After a moment, Astra lifts him up. Charlie looks at him again, for another moment, before looking away. "He doesn't talk much."  
"No." Astra replied. "We should hurry...We're holding the wake at our house." She said. Munro nods, and follows her away from the grave.

…

The first time he ever talks to Charlie Davis is at the aforementioned wake. When Astra is distracted talking about her husband with someone he doesn't know, the child runs off. She doesn't notice. He was standing by the sandwhiches, trying to pretend that he wasn't totally repelled by all of them. (He settles on plain cheese. It's hard to mess up plain cheese) and he's about to start eating when he feels a tiny brush of wind blow his trouser legs. He looks down just in time to see a tiny blot of dark colour rush away around the corner. He abandons his sandwhich on the platter to chase after it.

It ducks into a hall and then into the second door on the left. He follows. Inside the room, sitting on the bed is the very small and very pale child from before. He's wearing his father's police hat. It's far too big for him, covering his eyes as he looks up, and pushes the hat back off his eyes. Munro sits next to him on the bed. He notices only then how bare the room is. Only the bed and a chair, as well as a set of building blocks and painted wooden animals.

"Mum says that Daddy's not coming back." He states, looking at the blocks set up on the floor.

"That's right." He agrees.  
"He did that." Charlie said, pointing at the blocks. "He says it's a police station."

"Is that so?"  
"Mm hmm."  
"and the animals?"  
"It's an animal police station" Charlie told him, as if it made the most sense in the world and that he was as dull as a brick.

"Of course. It's an animal police station." He agrees, as Charlie takes the hat off.

"I thought that your father was going to be buried in that." He said, as Charlie shrugs at him.

"I took it out."  
"No one noticed?"  
"I'm good at hiding."

"I can imagine." He commented, as Charlie's tiny fingers gently play with the badge on the front.

"I'm going to be a police officer one day." Charlie informs him. "A good one. A real good one." After a minute, Munro puts the hat back on his head.

"Sure thing, mate." He commented.  
"Are you a police man as well?"  
"I am, yes."  
"Are you a good one?"  
"I like to think so." He nods, and then looks back at his blocks. Children are strange creatures at the best of time. Charlie moves the hat back so he can look up at William with round grey eyes. He hops off the bed and stumbles to his bookshelf, returning with a book that is full of colourful pictures. He hands it to him, and then climbs into his lap, opening the book. He opens it to the front cover, and with a small finger points to the inscription:

'To: Charlie, Love: Dad'

And Munro pretends that there aren't tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

"That's my name." He said, "Ch-Ar-Lee" William nods.  
"Yes, it is."  
"What's your name?"  
"William."  
"Will-E-Am."

"Mm." He nods, fastening his arms around Charlie's tiny waist so he doesn't slip off. Charlie opens the book to the first page, revealing the colorful illustrations. He used a tiny finger to point at the words. "Will you read it?"

…

The wake is a long time over by the time that Astra comes in. She leans on the doorframe, looking in at William and he sat on the bed, propped up against the bed end, with Charlie asleep in his lap. She sighed, and took the police hat off his head. "You must have the magic touch." She said, "He never sleeps when I tell him too." William smiles slightly and gently shifts Charlie off, onto the bed.  
"He just wanted me to read to him." He said, looking at the book that had been sitting in his lap. Astra nodded, and sat on the bed by him.

"He looks a lot like his father." She murmured, looking at him, and wiping at her eyes slightly. William nods, and then looks away.

…

It's three weeks from then until Munro sees Charlie Daivs again, and he wishes it was under different circumstances. He hears about it though a constable, that Astra Davis was in an accident, and they wanted to know if he knew anything about Charlie's family. Apparently, he was their only known friend in the city. He doesn't hesitate to drive down to the hospital to find out what happened, as far as he knows, Astra had one bother, out of the state, and

He found Charlie sitting in the waiting room, neat black shoes slightly to big tied tightly to his tiny feet. His left arm with wrapped in a clean white bandage, a second one on his cheek, and sticking plasters on both of his small knees. Upon seeing a friendly face, Charlie ignores the nurse telling him to sit down and rushes up to him, throwing his tiny arms around William's leg. After a moment, Munro lifts him up, and presses his nose into Charlie's hair. Charlie fastens a tiny hand around the shiny buttons on his police blazer. He realizes that it's just them now.

Amongst other injuries, Charlie had a broken rib and three bruised ones, a mild concussion, his chest had a collection of small gashes, his arm had been cut open by twisted metal, and he'd scrapped his face on the pavement at some point as well, probably trying to save his mother. Apparently he's the only one who finds the whole situation rather telling of Charlie's disposition.

…

It takes three weeks for Charlie to really understand that his mother isn't coming back. Two funerals in three weeks is a lot for one person, especially a child. Astra Davis has one brother, who pays for the funeral. She is buried next to her husband, and William knows that Richard would like that. Since he collected Charlie from the hospital, the boy wouldn't leave him alone. With tiny arms fastened around his leg, Charlie seemed to think that William was going to be keeping him forever. There is no viewing for Astra, his understanding is that her body was too badly damaged for it. After the coffin is lowered, he kneels down, and takes Charlie into his arms, lifting him up. It was like Charlie had some kind of intuition not to put his weight on the bad shoulder, he thinks, as the tiny boy puts his head on William's chest.

...

Since the accident, Charlie seemed to have picked up a long and twisted scar down his forearm. His face, at least, had healed with only a small speckling of slightly sunken skin, giving him the slightly pockmarked face of his mother. It breaks his heart because this is all he has left of Richard, and he'd be heart broken if he lost it.

…

"Dad!" No matter how many times he hears it, Munro is sure that he will never get used to being called by Richard's name.

"Charlie!" He replied, as Charlie thundered up to him, leaving his teacher behind and almost tripping over his own small feet in his rush to get up to him  
"Daddy, look what I made you!" He said, excitedly holding up a piece of cardboard for him to see. Munro crouched down to Charlie's level, and took the cardboard from him.

It was what appeared to be an invitation to the fathers day party that the boys class was having. He read the card, and then looked back at Charlie, who was almost bouncing on his spot. "So?" He asked, putting his hands together tightly.

"I don't know..." Munro teased, picking Charlie up and pretending to think about it.

"Puh-lease?" Charlie asked, fastening his arms around Munro's neck so that he didn't fall.

"Since you asked me so nicely.' He said, before setting Charlie back down. "Go get your bag." He smiled, watching Charlie scramble off to get his plain brown messenger bag.

"Mr...Davis, is it?" asks a voice from behind him. He turns to find Charlie's teacher looking at him. She was an average height with brown hair pulled back tightly from her face in a low bun.  
"Munro."  
"Pardon?"  
"My name. Munro."

"My apologies I just thought..."  
"It happens all the time." He said, making a dismissive hand gesture. "What would you like to talk about?"  
"It's about Charlie."  
"What did he do?" Munro asked, with a raised eyebrow.  
"It's nothing that he's done, I just wanted to makes sure you knew just how smart he is." He looks down at the card in his hands.

"He is, yes."  
"Have you considered moving him forward a grade?" She asked,

"No, no I haven't." He said, finally.  
"I really think it might be worthwhile considering." She smiled, as Charlie came back over. William took Charlie's bag for him, and then took his hand.  
"We'll consider it." He promised, as Charlie led the way out. He did like being able to pick Charlie up on his days off, he thinks, as Charlie excitedly told him about his day.

…

As he expected, the party was a very tiring experience for Charlie. Carrying the sleepy child into their small home, Munro tossed his keys onto the table by the door, and then took Charlie into his bedroom. Charlie was more then ready to get into his pajamas and climb under the covers of the bed. When Munro came in to check on him, he set a photo on the nightstand.  
"That's my daddy." Charlie said, insight fully. Munro nodded.  
"Are you going to wish him a happy fathers day as well?" He prompted softly. Charlie looked at the photo, then back at Munro.  
"Why?"  
"Because he's your father."  
"It's just a photo, Dad."

"I know, I just thought you might like to…" Before he can say anything else, Charlie leans up to give him a hug.  
"Happy fathers day, Dad." After a second, Munro hugs him back, pressing his nose into Charlie's hair the way he always did when he felt the tears that threatened the back of his eyes. Charlie would never see him weak.

…

Do you promise to come watch the big race?" Charlie asked, as the car approached the school, "You promised!" The eleven year old insisted, looking at him with big grey eyes.  
"Just remind me when it is, again?"  
"One thirty. You promised you'd come." Charlie reminded, as he grabbed his bag. Fetes were tedious for Munro at the best of times but he had promised. He shooed Charlie out of the car, and watched him run into the building to make his way to the oval.

He arrived at one o'clock on the dot. Charlie was (As far as he could tell) competing in the diskus on the other side of the oval, and hadn't noticed him yet. William is very well aware that he sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the mothers that had gathered to watch their children compete. But he doesn't mind. "Which one is yours?" A woman just to his left drinking lemonade asks. He turns halfway to look at her, then turning his attention back to the children.

"Charlie, that one." He said, pointing to Charlie as he took the discus from the ground and walks up to the place.

"He won second in the ring toss today." She said, as Charlie threw the discus slightly further then the ones already on the ground. He claps as Charlie finally notices him, and gives an excited wave. All William can think is that he looks so much like his father as he gets a little blue ribbon to pin onto his shirt.

When the race starts, he's off. William expects Charlie to easily outrun the other competitors. He's been bringing home gold medals from these events for years, he couldn't expect this one to be different. The race is tight towards the finish line, when Charlie suddenly falls back. He looks up sharply and frowns as Charlie doubles his effort to make it to the finish line in second. "It's still a good time." He assures Charlie, noticing the stormy look on his face.  
"I know, but I could have won." 

…

"Dad?" Charlie asked softly, standing outside his officer clutching a white sheet of folded paper tightly between his hands. Munro doesn't pay attention to the fifth grader, continuing to scribble on his piece of paper. "Dad?" He repeats, a little louder. Still nothing. So he steps into the room, and walks up to his desk. "I'm sorry."  
"If you were sorry then you wouldn't have done it in the first place." He looks down at his shoes, the burning shame of being yelled at still fresh in his mind. For the last week, Munro had been doing a very good job of ignoring Charlie, after he got into a fight after school with another boy. "You broke that other boys nose." He said, finally looking up at his son.

"I know." He whispered. "I'm really sorry, I didn't want to do that...I just..." He sighed, and then put the paper up on Munro's desk. "Please don't ignore me anymore." He whispered, before turning to leave. After the child has left, Munro picks up the piece of paper, finding on it a note of apology for embarrassing him. Eventually, he gets up and goes around to Charlie's room, looking in on the sleeping child. He doesn't miss the 'animal police station' set up on top of his chest of drawers.

…

When Charlie is about fifteen, his father's birthday rolls around. "Dad?" He asks softly, looking into the living room.  
"Charlie." Munro greets, wiping at his eyes.  
"What's wrong?" Charlie asks, approaching him slowly. He's never seen Munro sad before. He has seen a lot of other emotions, but sadness wasn't one of them. William pats the chair next to him. He sits.

"I suppose you don't remember your father." Charlie shakes his head no.  
"He was a good man." Munro said, passing Charlie the picture of him that sat up on their mantle piece.

"So you tell me." Charlie replied.  
"He loved you so much.' He said, softly. "And he loved your mother." Charlie nods,  
"Did he love you?" Munro shakes his head no.  
"I don't think he did." He murmured. "But that doesn't matter. He was my friend."  
"You loved him?" William nods.  
"Of course I did." with the longing gaze that Munro gives the picture it buries the seed of doubt in Charlie's heart that Munro doesn't love him. He loves the idea of him being his father. "If I look at you, and squint my eyes, then you look just like him." He said, putting a gentle hand on Charlie's cheek. His eyes water up, and Charlie looks away. "He was so easy to love." He whispered. Charlie stays with him for the night, sitting in the quiet.

…

"I'm taking the Ballarat job." He said, suddenly.  
"What?" He asks, setting his knife and fork down.

"The Ballarat job, Dad. I'm taking it." Charlie said, his face paling as Munro went very quiet all of a sudden.

"I know what it is, Charlie. I told you that you're not allowed."  
"I'm twenty six, Dad." Charlie said, "I want to get out and see the world. I'm not going to be here with you forever!" Munro put his elbows up on the table and fastened his hands together.  
"We talked about this, I don't think your ready."  
"When will I be ready, then?" He asked. "If not now, then when?" He pleaded.  
"When I say so." Munro announced.

"Well...I already handed in the paperwork so...It's too late."

"No! You aren't going!"  
"You can't stop me." Charlie argued. "If you need a man down there to report, why not me? You know you can trust me!"

"It's not you I don't trust, it's everyone else."

"I'll be fine." He said, "I promise." Munro takes a sip of wine and doesn't say anything else to him before he leaves at the end of the week.

…

"I don't know how things work in Melbourne." Lawson said, as Charlie set his hat on his new desk. He turned halfway to face him, "But I know who your father is."

"What does my-"  
"Let me finish. I expect you got a lot of special treatment for being his son, but if you're expecting any of that here then you're sorely mistaken." Lawson informs him. Charlie looks down at his hat.

"Alright, Boss." he states. It's nothing he's never heard before. Lawson pauses, and then nods, looking away. Charlie sighs softly, and looks down at the badge on his hat, the very slight tarnish from where tiny fingers had clutched it tight during a court visit to appoint Munro as his legal guardian. It was common knowledge to him that people didn't think he was a good police man on his own merit. Just because his father was a super independent didn't really mean anything to him.

'…

Doctor. Sorry to bother you at home. I'd like to talk to you. About the knife.

Doctor. Sorry to bother you at home, I'd like to talk about the knife.

Doctor, sorry to bother you. I'd like to talk to you about the knife.

Doctor, my dad was right, I hate this town, I hate you and I want to go home.

…

"Now you owe me a story." Beatrice smile, knocking him playfully in the shoulder. Charlie scoffed, and looked up at the sky for a moment, and then back at her.  
"I call my dad, every night." He said, after a moment, trying to play it off as a slight joke. At Beatrice's look, he elaborates. "He hasn't got anyone else...He worries, when I'm not around." He sighed and takes a sip of wine. "And your mum?" He pauses, before shaking his head.  
"No, nah." He said, and set his glass down. "I tell you what, I love the work here, and I'm good at it." He said, "But they don't trust me, and I don't really know anyone." He sighed.  
"So why come?" Beatrice asked quietly.

"Because I thought I'd make him proud."

"Your dad?" Charlie scoffs slightly, and looks up at the sky.  
"And...Because you're right. It's like you really can see every star in the sky.

…

Blake can't help but stare. With almost five hours of work under their belt, Charlie had taken off his blazer and rolled up his sleeves. "Pass the acetone, will you?" he asks, and Blake does. Taking a tiny bit on a cottonball, Charlie dabbed at the film, carefully cleaning it. "You're starring at me." He said, "Am I doing it wrong?" Blake shakes his head no, and Charlie looks up at him.  
"Just admiring your scar." Charlie looked down at the faded, but still slightly raised scar along his outer arm.

"Not sure I've ever heard of anyone admiring it before, Doc."

"What do they normally do?"  
"Ask if they can touch and then act repulsed when they feel it."

"Oh."  
"Hm." Charlie replied, picking up the magnifying glass to examine the film he was cleaning. Mattie raised an eyebrow at the mysterious Constable.  
"How did you get it?" She asked, trying to sound casual as Charlie took a cotton bud to dab at his film before deciding it was clean.  
"Car accident." He replied, before picking up another piece of twisted film and the scissors.  
"How long ago?" She asked, as Charlie finally glanced up from his film.  
"More then twenty years ago. I was four." He scoffed, "It got infected, they thought they would have to take my arm off. My dad convinced them to give me more time." He said, "I'm glad he did." He said, "He'd be so disappointed if I couldn't be a police officer." There's a wealth of information in that sentence alone, but Blake decides that there's no need to push that today.

…

In all the people he expected to find a friend in, Lawson was not one of them.

The sun as long since set, leaving just Charlie and Lawson sitting in the office, Charlie's type writer clicks, Lawson's pen scratches and oddly, it's peaceful. Lawson stands, and Charlie glances up slightly, before looking back down at his page. Lawson was up for several moments, before going into the kitchen, when he returned, he set a bottle of coke on Charlie's desk. Charlie studied it, and then looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "What's this for?"  
"It's...An apology."  
"For what?" He asked, with a small frown.

"What I said, about your father." Charlie rolled his eyes and looked back at his type writer. Lawson sighed at him. "Not very friendly, are you?"

"I was sent down here to keep an eye on things, not be anyone's friend." He said, dryly.

"I know. But I was out of line. You do seem to be a pretty decent copper." Charlie frowned slightly,  
"I just reminded you that I'm supposed to be against you. Why are you giving me a drink?" Lawson dragged a chair in front of his desk.  
"Because that's what you do when you offend someone. You buy them a drink. I know you don't drink as such, so I brought you something you do drink."

"Why?"  
"Because it's friendly."

"I still don't understand. You're meant to dislike me."

"Am I? Who told you that?"  
"My father."

"You really don't understand social conventions do you?"

"Is that rhetorical?" Lawson nods yes and offers Charlie a bottle opener. Charlie takes it, but continues to stare at him, confused.

"You brought me a drink to say you were sorry." Lawson nods yes. "Even though I'm reporting back to Melbourne about your station." Lawson nods again. Charlie looks down at his bottle, and then back to Lawson. "I prefer cherry." He said, after a long moment, "But thank you anyway." Lawson shook his head, and went back to his desk. Charlie watches him for a moment.

He doesn't say many bad things about the station after that.

…

"Isn't it about time for you to be knocking off?" Blake asked, as Charlie wiped the luminol of the wire from the pottery studio. He scoffs slightly to himself.

"I don't mind missing another night at the boarding house."

"I would have thought you'd have rented out a room by now."  
"My dad wants me to stay somewhere he knows." He said, "Anyway, I wasn't expecting to stay on so long." He said, dismissively.

"Well, we have rooms at our place, if you do decide to stay on." Blake said. He knew Charlie's father was important to him, but he couldn't imagine a boy like Charlie was having a good time, living in the boarding house.

'What, your mum's old room?" Blake frowns slightly.  
"No. No, we have other rooms. You have a think about it." He smiled as Charlie put the wire in the yellow envelope. Charlie knows that there's no choice, nothing to think about. He can't disobey his father like that.

…

"Oh! Doctor! I have something for you!' He said, rushing back to the car to get the book on bees for him. While Charlie didn't have much time for reading anymore, he figured that the doctor might. "Here."  
"Oh, bees, thank you, Charlie." he smiled, as Charlie handed it over.  
"It's on my card, so don't break it, yeah?" Blake chuckled.

"Of course not." He smiled, as Charlie went back to his car. He realized, that the boy was probably going to end up being okay.

…

Lawson leaves, and it's his fault. He can see it in their eyes.

...

"What time is that race tomorrow, Charlie?" Blake asks, as Charlie looks up from the type writer he was clicking away on.  
"I gave you the flier." He complains, digging a second one out of his desk to give to the doctor.  
"I didn't know you were a runner."  
"Runs in the family." Charlie replied, "I'm going to win." He said, softly.  
"How do you know that?"  
"I don't lose races." Charlie states, calmly.  
"Ever?"

"I don't."

"Have you?"  
"Once or twice."

"And you don't, now?"  
"Of course not." Charlie replies, he disappointed his father that one time, but not again. Blake smiled, and tucked the flier away into his pocket.  
"I'll cheer you on.' He promised. Charlie smiled slightly at him, and then dipped his head.

"I won't need it, but thanks." Blake smiled back at him. It was nice to see that Charlie could actually joke with people.

…

He comes second.

Charlie Davis, the fastest runner in the station, possibly Ballarat, came second. Logically, he know it's not his fault, and logically, he knows Blake's probably not to upset with him, but it doesn't make him feel better to watch Blake fuss over him.

And he's not jealous.

Not at all.

…

"Albert Corrigan responsible for this?" Blake asks, as he stands back, allowing Charlie to do his shirt back up. And he pauses, because Blake likes Jack Beazley. He didn't want to upset a friend. So he doesn't say anything. He just buttons up his shirt, turning half away. "Spill it, Charlie." Blake said, as Charlie slowly continued to do up his buttons. To Blake's credit, Charlie thinks, he hadn't said anything about the small scars that cover his chest and stomach. Again, more remnants of the car accident. The tone Blake used sounded a lot like his father, grouchy mixed with mild annoyance at his hiding of information. Blake however seemed to have some kind of warmness to it that his father's tended to act. It enough to honestly make him concerned.

He debates telling the truth, for not the first time in his life. But he doesn't have time to weigh up all the pros and cones because Blake is giving him that look again. The imploring one that up until now he's somehow managed to avoid confessing his sins to. (Mattie O'Brain was right, he could see the Doctor as a Preacher) He relents.

"Jack Beazley."At the doctors concerned face, he elaborates. "During the race. At the last bend, I thought I had him." He said, "Then the bastard dug an elbow into my ribs." He said, folding his arms protectively over his chest. "What's he doing in town, anyway?"

…

After that, it takes him three days to work up the courage to move into the Blake house. And a further two to actually do so. He spends a good fifteen minutes standing outside before Blake's car turns the corner to collect him. He tries to come up with a good reason why he was changing his mind and not going to move in, but he can't. The previous night, his father had been very angry when he revealed his new lodging. More angry then just ignoring him, actually angry enough to yell at him. He wonders, briefly, what changed. They never used to fight, and now it seemed like it was all they did. He hasn't got a good reason to tell Blake when the doctor shows up, (Ten minutes late, of course) so he gets in the car, and they go to his house.

…

He proudly sets the lid on top of the roaster, and then puts it in the oven, just as proud. Despite his getting off on a shaky foot with Mrs Beazley, he didn't want his place here over before he'd even had time to unpack his suitcase, so he tried to make amends the only way he really knew how. Baking.

Growing up, his dad knew how to make two meals. Steak and vegetables, and fish. Which may be fine, if like William, you simply views food as fuel, but to a five year old boy, you may need to be a little more exciting then that. (Charlie, like most children, has a phase where he refused to eat any vegetables ) So from the time he trusted Charlie's tiny hands could hold tightly enough he wouldn't drop anything, Charlie was responsible for helping in the kitchen. When he was older then that, he took over cooking totally because despite his intelligence, Muro was a terrible cook.

" Charlie!" Mrs Beazley exclaims, entering the kitchen. "What on earth are you doing?"  
"You said we were having a roast." He said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"And what would you know about roasts?"  
"Dad's a terrible cook, needed all the help he could get." He smiled. Mr Beazley continues to stare at him. "Is that alright, Mrs Beazley?" He asks, suddenly aware that he may have crossed a line.

"For now." She smiled, as Charlie took of the apron. He feels a sigh building in his throat as he passes it to her.

"Sorry. I just find it hard watching you do everything." He said. Mrs Beazley looks at him, accepting her apron back.

"Well it's my job Charlie, but thank you."

…

Charlie finds out his father is coming to Ballarat the night before. During his nightly phonecall home.  
"Dad? It's me, Charlie."  
"You are my only son, boy. Who else would it be."  
"Well it could have been a wrong number."  
"It wasn't."

"Why are you doing the thing?"  
"The thing?"

"The thing where you're trying not to tell me something so you keep leading sentences to dead ends."

"Too smart for your own good, you are."  
"Rude."

"Do you deny it?"  
"No...What do you want to tell me?"

"Obviously Lawson had to leave Ballarat to go to the special branch."  
"Yeah..."  
"And you are aware that Ashby isn't permanent."

"Dad tell me you didn't."

"I'm coming to Ballarat tomorrow, I'll be at work on Wenesday."

"Are you joking?"  
"I don't joke, Charlie. I thought you'd be excited."

"I am! I just...Wasn't expecting it. I know how you feel about small time life."

"I'm interested in meeting your new friends. You are my son, I'm allowed to be worried."

"I know, Dad. I know. How are you holding up without me around to feed you?"  
"I tell you boy, I prefer your cooking to mine."

"Well you might have to go a little longer without it."

"Not too long."

…

"You identified a body off of the testimony of one teenager and a watch? What were you thinking, Charlie?" Munro demanded.

"I was thinking that I had nothing else to go on!" Charlie attempted to defend. "We needed an autopsy, so I did my best, and I was wrong!"

"Yes you were." Munro said, "It was a rookie mistake, and if you make another one, then I will see to it that your rank is back to where it should be."  
"You can't do that."  
"I can and I will."  
…

"Superintendent Munro, this is the police surgeon-"  
"Lucien Blake, pleasure to meet you." Blake said, cutting Charlie off. Charlie nods at the introductions. "Charlie's told me a lot about you, only good things, of course." Charlie offers a hesitant file to his father, but Munro shuts him down quickly.

"He's told me a lot about you as well. To the opposite effect." Blake's face mirrors his in disappointment.

…

"Hi, Mrs Beazley, it's uh, Charlie here, I was wondering if we could set another place at the table tonight, my father wants to come meet my lodgers."

…

"Why are you so nervous?" Mattie asks, as Charlie smooths his shirt down for what must be the tenth time this hour. "It's not like he's going to hate us all on sight."  
"You've never met my father." Charlie replied, rubbing his hands together. "He hates pretty much everyone." He said, smoothing his shirt down again. "You're better at this than me, do I look alright?"  
"You look fine." She promised. "And sit down, before you wear a hole in the carpet." She said, as Charlie sat.

"If he doesn't like you three then it's over, I can't stay here any more."  
"Why?"  
"He's my father, I'm not meant to disobey him."

"You're also twenty six. If you like it here, then tell him so." He sighed softly and rubbed his face with his hands.  
"It's not that easy."  
"I think you'll find it is." Mattie assured him. He sighed again and rubbed at his face with his hands.

…

Dinner is tense at best. Munro is stoic and Charlie is awkward. The air is thick with unspoken words. As he leaves, Munro pauses at the door, and gives Charlie a look over. "Where's your bag, Charlie?" Charlie frowns, giving him a confused look.

"In my room, why?"  
"Isn't it packed?"

"No, I'm not going anywhere."

"Well, I rented a flat, so go pack a bag."  
"No, I like it here."  
"Well I don't."  
"I do." He replied, "I'm perfectly fine here, Dad. You don't need to worry."

"I am your father, Boy."  
"And I am a twenty six year old man. We'll go back to living together in Melbourne." He smiled, trying to defuse the situation. Munro does leave, but Charlie doesn't seem any less jumpy.

Sitting in the livingroom, later, watching Game of Champions, Mattie turns to him, and says in a soft voice "You know, I can see why you turned out the way that you did." Charlie looks at her, for a long moment, before looking away. Not sure if he's upset because she's right, or because he never thought he turned out any way in particular.

…

Things go downhill fairly steadily after that.

…

"Davis."

"It's Lawson."  
"Unless you're about to tell me that you're coming back then you can hang up the phone right now."

"Could you be a little more obvious?"  
"Sorry. Just...Having a bad week."  
"I can empathize. It looks like I'm going to be staying in Melbourne for a while yet."

"Really?"  
"No, I'm lying to you."  
"Why are you telling me, over the doctor?"  
"Because I think you can help me."  
"...Alright."

"If I'm going to get back to Ballarat then we need to get rid of your dad."

"I can't do something like that, he's my dad."

"I know, I just, thought I'd offer it to you."  
"I can't...I can't kick him out, but, I can keep you up to date."

"Alright."

…

"Walk with me, Davis."

…

"Are we here to interview a suspect, Dad?" Munro sits at the table and takes the menu. Charlie sits opposite him, after several moments.

"Do you have a suspect for me, Charlie?" Silence. "Or are you waiting for the doctor to provide yo one?" He doesn't reply, just stays silent. It was no good talking to him when he was in one of these moods.

Lunch is a quiet affair that leaves him feeling drained. He's never known his father to be so quiet.

"I want to talk about your father." He said, after several moments. "He'd be so proud of you, taking after him so much." Charlie nods quietly, biting the inside of his cheek. "He was a good man, your father." Charlie sighs softly. He knew Munro was right. "His own man." Munro said, after several moments, allowing that to sink in. Munro studied Charlie's face for several moments, as he folded and then refolded his napkin. While he was still vaugely boyish in looks, there was something about him that gave off the impression that he was much smarter then he looked. Quite the opposite from himself, even in terms of their face shape.

Charlie had a roundish face, with low cheekbones and round grey eyes. Munro's face was sharper, more angles, gave him a more dangerous look about him. The best, or perhaps the worst part, for William, was that Charlie looked just like his dad. Even with the tiny scars marking his face, he looked just like him, and if he squints his eyes just right, then Charlie might as well be him.

And he never wants to let this last link to Richard go.

…

One thing that consistent surprises Charlie, is the Doctor's ability to be so shockingly nice. No matter what he was doing, or who he was talking to, Charlie can probably count on one hand the amount of times he's seen the doctor be cruel to someone. What was probably worse, however, was that the Doctor always seemed to be nice to him, no matter how much trouble he seemed to cause him.

"It's just a scrape, Doc." He protested, as the Doctor carefully wrapped the bandage around his arm.  
"I know, I just don't think you should risk it getting infected." He replied, clipping the bandage into place and pronouncing Charlie good as new.

"You confuse me." Charlie commented, as Blake let him down off the table.

"Do I?" Charlie nods. "About what, maybe I can clear something up."

"You don't really like my father."  
"I-"  
"It's fine, I see it all the time, and yet, even though you don't like him much, you still treat me the way you always have. Why?"

"Because we're friends and I don't see how me liking your father or not is related. You aren't your father, and he's not you."

"I just wish someone would tell him that." He murmured under his breath.  
" Hm?" Blake asked, turning back around.  
"Nothing." Charlie said, quickly, "Thank you, for fixing my arm.'

"It was nothing. Like you said, just a scrape." Charlie nods, and runs his fingers over the bandage, and continuing to puzzle over Lucien Blake.

…

He has a thought, one evening, standing in Munro's office. He thought that he missed his old dad. The one he had known when he was smal After calling him, he was left in his office, looking at his dad's things and an even worse thought occurred to him. If he found something in here, then Lawson might be able to use it. His head pounded, and he looked at the photo of himself and his dad that was on the desk. It was a photo from when he was very small, maybe five years old, wearing Munro's hat. He smiled at his former self, and then looked at the book that was sitting on the table with a pencil on it. He takes out a pair of gloves.

…

It's quiet for a few days. Even the doctor seems to feel the building pressure in the air, something spectacular was coming.

…

"What are those?" He asks, pointing to the letters on Munro's desk.

"Ah, Charlie, I was about to talk to you about this." Munro replied, looking much more reptilian then Charlie can ever recall him looking. "Now, your doctor, you're aware that he has a daughter in Communist China." Charlie nods yes. "He went to visit her recently, and as such, he's come to the attention of a few departments." Charlie blinks slowly, before approaching the topic cautiously.

"Do they...Suspect him of anything in particular?" Munro meets his eyes as they both stand with the file between them.

"I can't say." He reaches for the file.

"Classified information." He said, smacking his hand down on top of Charlie's paler one. After several moments, he realises he can feel Charlie's heartbeat though the veins in his hand.

He pulls back, taking the file with him. With a memory like his, Charlie only needed to see the inside of the file for a few moments, and he's be able to report everything inside to the doctor. While having someone like Charlie was good when he was on your side, he was a downright rotten enemy.

"Of course, Melbourne is very interested to hear what he has to say." He said, his eyes moving to rest on the letters. Charlie can see Blake's virtually unreadable (except to the trained eye) handwriting sprawled across the plain white envelope. There is a pause between them. Charlie has no idea what to say so he just stares at Munro somewhat blankly. "He has loyal friends, your Doctor." There is a moderate pause. "It would be a shame, if some of them got hurt because of him." Charlie's eyes meet with Munro's. It's not like how he remembers them to be.

"Dad." He said, softly. "He's not my doctor." Munro purses his lips, and then nods.  
"Glad to hear it, boy."

…

"Did you know about this?" Charlie's eyes make contact with the doctors as he holds up an international letter, it's colored border showing it's overseas destination.

"I don't know what that is." And for just one second, maybe, just maybe, Charlie thinks that the doctor believes him. Of course, the second is ruined by the doctor slamming him up against the wall so hard that a week later his skin is still mottled brown and green.

"Did you know?!" The doctor demands, His cup breaks on the pavement, and the tea stain never really washes out of his pants. "God Charlie!" He said, letting go of his shirt and allowing Charlie to look away. He wants very badly for the earth to swallow him up, right then. "I sent letter, after letter, I sent money, none of it got though, did you know?" He's never seen Blake this angry. He's seen Blake disgusted, saddened and moderately annoyed (Sometimes directed at him, sometimes all at once) Of course this may be the fear that fills him with the knowledge that Blake may be about to beat him to a pulp, but he can't even think of a time when Blake was this angry before. Blake pushes him up the wall again and he shouts.  
"It's Dad!" Blake actually looks a little shocked, but releases his shirt. "Your name, it came up on a watch list." Blake narrowed his eyes.  
" What's that got to do with Munro?" Of course it may also be Charlie's paranoia, but after living with the doctor for the last few months, he was convinced that the man was a spy for some government. He had to be.

"He's onto it, Doc, he told me."  
"When?"  
"Two days ago." Blake stares at him, and then reels back, disgusted,  
"Let me read you something, Charlie" Blake spits, as Charlie bites down firmly on his bottom lip. Honestly, looking back, Charlie can't recall many details about the letter Blake reads him, the only line he can still hear, months later, rattling around in his skull, is  
"Why are you punishing me?" He leans his head back against the wall, looking up, as if he were asking God to help him. God (as per usual.) offers him nothing in reply.

"Lucien." He said, softly, trying his best to get the doctor to understand, "I'm sorry" He knows that a sorry probably fixes nothing, but it makes him feel better.

"Where is, your dad, now, Charlie?" Blake asks, spitting his name out like it tasted bad.

"He's in his office. Talking to Malcom Baeuford, who's making an official complaint." Blake walks off, and something possess Charlie to call out after him. "He says you have loyal friends." Blake turns back around to face him. "And that that's your weakness."

"Does he? That sounds like a threat." Charlie's left thumb makes circles in the air, and he tries to control his paranoia.  
"And I'm included." He said, after a moment. Blake turns back around. Charlie chases after him. "Hey. Hey! You can't just walk in on him!"

…

I expected better from you, Charlie.

I expected something different from you, Charlie.

I expected you know the difference between right and wrong, Charlie

I expected you to fit the shape that Danny left behind without any problems, Charlie.

I expected better of you, Charlie.

.

…

He turns up at his father's office, crying. He's been hiding in the bathrooms all afternoon, hoping that no one would come looking for him. (No one has, and he doesn't know if he's pleased or not) Munro looks up at his red, blotchy face and tear stained cheeks. He doesn't need to be told what happened to be up on his feet, and pulling Charlie into his arms. Charlie cries pitifully, until his diaphragm aches and Munro is soaked though to the skin in the place where his face touches. "He hates me." Charlie whispers. "You hate me." He continued. "What did I ever do to deserve this?" Munro presses his nose into Charlie's hair the way he always has, and is shocked to find that not only has his personality changed, he doesn't even smell the way he used to. "I don't know." Munro replied, holding him until eventually Charlie breaks away, rubbing at his face with his palms. He doesn't even realize the doctor is there until he hears them talking after he leaves.

…

It hurts twice as much to have the same break down in front of Mrs Beazley. He's broken down in front of his father plenty of times. (A side effect of being permanently tightly wound, paranoid and full of anxiety) Oddly enough, it happens unexpectedly. He's gone up to his room, not speaking with Matthew in the livingroom, just sitting on his bed. He holds a teddy bear in his arms, pressing his face into the tattered fur, desperately seeking out the familiar comforts of home. "Charlie?" His eyes shoot open, and he puts the bear down. Mrs Beazley stands at the door, looking unobtrusive and honestly, probably more motherly then even his real mother had been. "You missed dinner." She informed him, not moving out of the room. "Matthew stayed over." She said, "Mattie says she missed your potatoes." She murmured. Charlie looked down at the stuffed bear with a funny little smile on his face. She slowly approached him, before sitting next to him on the bed.

"You make it sound like we're a family." He mumbled, his fingers slowly tightening around the bear. She gently rubs one of his shoulders. Charlie continues to look at the bear he's holding. "But how can we be a family, when I already have one?"  
"You can have more then one member in your family." She promises. "You may be annoying, emotionally distant and paranoid, but you fit in with us." She assured him.

"I used to think that." He said, softly, "That I could be both here and there. That I could wear to hats, but they fell off." He whispered, "And now I have neither." He whispered, his voice cracking, his already raspy voice vanishing briefly. He wipes furiously at his eyes until Mrs Beazley catches his hands in hers, and then pulls him tight up against her.

"You have us, Charlie. You will always have us." She whispered, as Charlie shook furiously under her arm.

…

Blake doesn't need him as much after that. He has Lawson back and they go on to form their old team, leaving him behind.

He pretends he's not hurt.

…

"Davis." Charlie looks up, "Go to a house in Lienchfield, the power's been cut to the property. After a moment, he frowns, the words setting in.  
"Wouldn't that require an electrician, sir?" he frowns, closing the draw of the filing cabinet. Munro was no in the mood for joking, so he just glared at Charlie until he moved. "

"Go! Take a statement." He goes back to his desk. Munro passes Blake. "Still waiting on your resignation, aren't I?" Charlie looks up at Bake's face, and then to Lawson, who starts talking.

"Has the good doctor formally resigned, Superintendent?" Munro blinks, and then turns to Charlie, his eyes catch the light and look truly menacing. And for a passing second, Charlie truly misses warm brown eyes, the ones that tucked him into bed, went to parent teacher interviews and gathered him up tightly when he cried.

"Charlie." He looks up. "You were there. Inform Inspector Lawson here what happened." All three of them stare at him, their eyes burrowing deep inside of him, forcing him to make a choice.

Who's side are you on?

It felt like time had slowed to a crawl. Who does he defend, he thinks. His father, who raised him, or his friends. Who were currently doing a very good job of ignoring him. His thoughts drift to Mattie O'Brian, and her quick wit, and how much fun he had arguing with her. How much he would miss her. He thinks about Matthew Lawson, who had given him a bottle of coke as an apology, and promoted him because he was a good cop, not because his father was tight with the commissioner. Thought about Jean Beazley, who despite her initial dislike had grown close to his heart, and how much he enjoyed cooking with her in the kitchen, how much he liked spending time with her. How much he would miss that. Thought about Richard Davis, who he didn't know. Who he only knew because Munro told him. Thought about how it was his job to carry on the Davis name. His mother, Astra Davis, and her soft blonde hair. Lastly, he thought about Lucien Blake, with his gentle hands and infectious positivity. He thought about how much he liked the doctor. How the doctor treated him like a member of the family, and despite all he'd done, thought he was a good person.

The answer is pretty clear to him.

He makes eye contact with Munro, and in a perfect word, he words would have been strong and defiant. However, his hurried "Sorry Sir. I didn't hear anything." Would have to do. The tension was almost physical. Something deep inside of him screams to take it back. The three other men in the room stare at him, each with a look of slight confusion. He looks back to his desk, going through the top drawer as if he were looking for something.

"I see. We'll make this a little more formal from now on, shall we?" Munro asks, before leaving. The three of them sit in silence for almost five minutes. Two men shocked by Charlie's betrayal of his beloved father. Charlie to afraid to move in case his father came back. Eventually, he breaks the quiet.

"He is so pissed." He said, and Lawson actually laughs because out of everything he expected to come out of Charlie's mouth, that was not it. Even Blake chuckles slightly.  
…

They stand outside Munro's office, each man in his own private bubble, as Lawson stood between them. "So what happens now?" He asked softly, watching as Lawson put the photo back in his pocket. Lawson looked forward at seemingly nothing, and then he replied "Now it's a game of who cracks first." He walked off, and just as Charlie is about to follow him, and he puts a hand on his arm. Charlie turns to look at him.

"You were keeping Lawson informed the whole time, weren't you?" Charlie offers a little smile, "Even found that photograph for him." Charlie never accepts or denies it but Blake knows. "Thank you, Charlie." He said, with genuine gratitude in his voice. Something that Charlie had never really heard before. Blake offers him a half hug, which he returned (with only slight hesitance)

"Anytime, Doc." He promises, in a soft voice.

…

He makes potatoes again. The doctor compliments them.

…

Munro's last attempt to secure Charlie for himself came sooner then expected. After dealing with various minor complaints all morning, Charlie was ready to have a sit down at his desk and do some paper work. Looking into his in tray, there was a collection of letters sitting in it. The first three were mostly inconsequential, but the last one was the one that ruined whatever was left of their relationship.

Inside the neatly sealed envelope was a train ticket to Bendigo, in his name, for the day after tomorrow. He nearly crumpled the ticket in his closed fist. He storms towards Munro's office, with controlled shoes clicking the floor steadily.

…

Now in a perfect word, the train ticket would have hit William in the face, and he would have flinched. As has been pointed out to poor Charlie many times, this was not a perfect world, and the ticket sailed though the air, and then landed neatly on Munro's desk, as if mocking him. "What the hell is that?"  
"Don't swear at me, Boy." Munro said, not looking up from whatever he was writing.  
"I'll swear if I want, what is it?" Munro neatly caps his pen and looked up at Charlie.  
"It's a train ticket to Bendigo."  
"I can see that. Why?"  
"Because I don't like it here, so I'm transferring you to Bendigo and I'll follow after when this whole mess with Blake is cleaned up."  
"You are unbelievable." Charlie spat, rubbing at his face furiously.

"So unbelievable that I want what's best for my son?"  
" What's best?" Charlie asked, "For the first time in my life, I've managed to make friends, and you want to send me away from them?"  
"I've already explained to you, Charlie. Friends aren't going to help you advance up the ladder."  
"And your friends are?"

"That's why they're my friends."  
"I'm a grown man, Dad. I can chose where I want to live."  
"I am your father and your commanding officer." Charlie stared at him, and he stared back, and Charlie sighed at him.  
"I'm not going to Bendigo."  
"You don't have a choice." Charlie stared at him in disbelief

"I'll quit the police force."

"You wouldn't dare." They lock eyes, and the Charlie stalks out, anger virtually palpable.

…

"Davis, step outside."

….

"Chief Superintendent William Munro, you are now required to submit to questioning on charges of tampering with evidence, and meeting with known criminals." Munro scoffed, facing Charlie and Lawson with an air of dignity.  
"Do you really think, that command in Melbourne will stand for this?" He asks, talking more to Charlie then Lawson, and then pushing past the both of them. Charlie grabs his arm.  
"Well, they should, given it was their idea." He takes the diary and smiled. "Thanks Dad." Munro stops smiling.

"You have got to be joking, Charlie. After all I've done for you, this is my thanks?" Charlie glances at Lawson and then to his father.

"Your thanks?" He asks, finally. He doesn't let go of Munro's arm. "You're my father, I love you, but there's something you have to understand. I am not Richard Davis, and I am not yours to control. These last few months, looking at the world, looking at you, without being totally blinded by my admiration was the best thing I've ever done." He said, "I love you, Dad." He repeated, "But I love my friends here more." Munro narrows his eyes and gives Charlie a dark sneer.

"And what would your father think of you now?" Charlie stares him down for several long moments. He smiled slightly.

"Honestly? I don't care." He offered. "I never knew him. He has no influence over me now anyway." Munro continued to stare at him, before offering.  
"I have no son." and really it hurts a lot more then Charlie thinks that it should.

…

"Do you think I'm a sociopath, Mattie?" Mattie frowned and after a moment, shook her head no. Three days after Munro had been sent away, Charlie looked like he was finally going to open up to someone.

"Why would you think that?"  
"I read, that children who don't know their real parents are more likely to be sociopaths. Those are the ones who don't feel, yeah? Well, Hobart said that I must be pretty heartless to arrest my own father."  
"Maybe, but I'm a trained medical professional, and I don't think so. I think you have perfectly fine emotions. You did what was right."

"But for who?"  
"For you." She promised. Charlie sighed.  
"What happens to me, now?" He asked, staring off into the empty fireplace. "Parents dead, now Dad's gone as well. Blake's pissed off to Adelaide with Mrs Beazley...Who do I have left?" He asks, softly. Mattie put her head on his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his waist.  
"You have me." She promised, softly. "You will always have me." She assured him. He sighed.  
"When I was in grade six, they wanted to move me into highschool, because I was meant to be some kind of big genius. Now I use my big genius to put my father out of a job. I can't go back to Melbourne now. I'll never be promoted again, there's no way I'll be a superintendent now. Dad must be so disappointed." Mattie shut her eyes and made a shushing noise.  
"We'll work it out." she promised, as Charlie let out a long sigh, both of them looking into the fire. "I promise, Charlie, things are going to be okay."

"When?"  
"I don't know." She said, softly. " Eventually."

"He was a good dad."  
"I don't doubt it."  
"But this had to happen, I think."  
"Had to happen?"  
"I just wanted to be free."

"I know."  
"And he wanted me to be just like him, cutting myself off, separating myself. But I can't do that."  
"Not a lot of people can."

"I just want things….To be...Good, again."  
"They will be." She promised, as Charlie finally put his hands on her wrists. "I promise."

…


	2. Chapter 2

/ ***Writes another chapter because?* Warnings for a car accident.** **Thanks for reading, leave a review if you liked it.**

Coming home to an empty house after his forced retirement was not how Munro had expected this part of his life to play out. He'd expected his retirement to be in twenty years time, and to hand the roll down to Charlie's capable hands. But it's funny how life turns out. Charlie's wasn't here, and he thinks that Charlie will probably never be here again.

The house is dusty, him having not been here for about six months. He drags two fingers over the dusty mantle piece and smiles at the pictures he'd put up their, over the years. Most are of Charlie. Some have him in them. Most are just of Charlie, since he was the one who took most of them. Only his favorites made it up onto the mantle. Some had been changed out over the years, replaced with more recent photos. The most recent sat towards the left side, a photo of Charlie sitting cross legged on the floor reading a magazine. He'd taken that photo because he thought about just how much Charlie looked like his father in that one moment. He's pretty sure he never really got around to throwing that magazine away, anyhow.

The photo that has been on the mantle the longest is one of Charlie and himself, about six months after he was appointed Charlie's guardian. A professional photo, it depicts Charlie sitting in his lap, his tiny hands resting on top of William's much larger ones. Even in the black and white photo Charlie's eyes were pricing and full of emotion. He'd always liked this photo. He'd always liked the way they looked together.

…

"Daddy!" When he went to collect Charlie from after school care, he was always greeted in the same way. A screech from tiny lungs and small feet almost tripping over themselves in their rush to show him what he'd created today.

He always greeted the tiny wave of feet and squeals by picking him up and spinning him around. His bad shoulder always ached and tried to tell him he was overdoing it, but he didn't really care as much as he should. Today was a day like no other.

"Charlie!" He said, trying to mirror his excitement. It was hard, being a police man meant he'd seen his fair share of things that tried to dampen the mood, but there seemed to be nothing that Charlie couldn't solve. Charlie hooked his tiny arms around Munro's neck so William couldn't drop him, and giggled excitedly at him. As per usual, Charlie was the last child to be collected, most other parents already off work and collecting their own tiny bundles of hands and feet. William was not so lucky. The teacher, a small woman who seemed to emit warmth smiled at them. William sat Charlie back on the ground. "Go get your bag and you can tell me about your day." He said, watching Charlie run off. He has no idea where the boy gets so much energy from.

"He's very special, your boy." She told him, as William pulled his eyes off of Charlie and turned them onto her.  
"People keep telling me."  
"Very smart. He knows a lot more then people give him credit for."  
"Most children do." Munro replied, with a light smile.

"I agree, but Charlie, I think there's something else."  
"You do?" She nods, as Charlie rushes back up to them, carrying his plain brown bag in both hands. William took the bag from him, and put it over his shoulder, before picking Charlie up again, and carrying him out to the car while he excitedly told William about his day, in more detail then he would have expected of a four year old.

…

He leaves the dusty mantle behind him, and makes his way into Charlie's bedroom. It didn't look like much had changed at all since Charlie was a little boy. There was a desk in the corner with two birthday cards on it, a framed portrait of his parents wedding day, a photo of himself and Munro taken on his first day on the job, a drawing of him, done in pencil that Charlie had done in school when he was about fifteen. A roll of film that needed to be developed sat in a box by the corner of the desk, there was a stuffed bear with a police hat on the bed, the one he was always telling Charlie to get rid of, and the one that Charlie always insisted looked nice there. On his sideboard was an empty glass, a half finished copy of 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.' and four postcards with nothing written on them.

After a moment, he rather suddenly felt angry at Charlie. He hadn't been angry, up until now, just saddned, and he also finds himself very suddenly shoving all of Charlie's knick knacks off his side table, not even caring if the broken glass scratched the wooden floor. He overturns the desk, shouting incoherently in anger as the dusty things fell, and the photo frames broke. He rips the sheets off the bed, as if they had offended him, and yanks the drawers out of the dresser, throwing them up against the wall until they dented the plaster. Charlie's neatly folded clothes landed around him in piles, and feathers escape from the torn pillow, giving him the impression of standing in the snow.

…

Charlie starred out into the night sky, as if he was trying to find some sort of answer in the stars for a question that he'd never asked. The sky offers him no reply. He's not sure what he expected anyway. "What are you looking for?" A voice behind him asks. After a moment, Charlie turns halfway to face the speaker.

"I'm not sure, Mattie" He admits, after a moment. "A sign from God? Aliens?" Mattie scoffs, and joins him on the balcony, before offering him a sip of whatever was in her glass. Charlie accepts, and then promptly hands the glass back, looking disgusted. "That's awful." He said, "I'd rather get drunk on wine, thanks." Mattie smiles and takes a sip herself.  
"What are you asking the sky about?"

"I'm still not sure I did the right thing, you know."

"Munro?"  
"Hm."Charlie replied, looking back up at the stars. "Beatrice told me, that you could see every star in the sky from Ballarat."  
"Was she right?"  
"I know she's not but it sometimes feels like she was."

"You think?"  
"When my I was little, I used to ask my father where stars came from."  
"What did he tell you?"  
"They were souls, of people, looking down on us."  
"I never took your father for the superstitious type."

"He's not. I just think he couldn't explain the giant balls of gas in the sky to a five year old who was too smart for his own good." Mattie patted him on the arm gently. "I wanted to be a free, as the stars."  
"But?"  
"They aren't free. Gravity keeps them in place. Just like it holds us to the ground." Mattie can't think of anything to say to him so they just stand and look out at the stars for a while longer. "I miss my dad." He said, softly. Mattie put a free arm over his shoulder, and felt Charlie sag under it's weight.

"So do I." Mattie said, after a moment.

"Are all sons destined to end up like their fathers?"  
"Why do you ask?"  
"I don't want to be like him."  
"How is that?"  
"Cold, distant, cutting myself off from everyone who ever tried to get close..." He whispered, "Forcing all of that on my unsuspecting son." He gazed up into the sky, "I was supposed to become a mason this year."  
"Were you?" Charlie nods.  
"He wanted me to be 'ready'."  
"Which means?"

"I honestly don't know. Until a few months ago, I would have taken it."  
"Why not now?"

"I don't know if that's what I want."

"What do you want?" Charlie bit his lip, and looked back out at the stars.

"Grow up, become a boring adult, get old and die."

"You're a funny old soul, Charlie." She murmured. "But that's not what you want."  
"I don't know what I want." He murmured, before looking back up to the sky. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Where are you going?"  
"I don't know."

"Will you come back?"  
"I don't know."

"What are you going to find?"  
"I don't know." Mattie scoffed lightly and then tossed her glass off the veranda in order to give him a hug. Charlie hugged her back, after a moment.

"I take it you'll be gone before I wake up?" He nods. She snniffed into his shoulder. "Feels like everyone's leaving me at once."  
"I'm sorry."  
"I know...I also know this is something you have to do...Just...Look after yourself. And promise me you'll write?"  
"Of course." He said, after a moment. "Just make sure that the doctor knows that it's not his fault. Give him that, from me. I know how he blames himself for things."  
"I know." She murmured, and slowly let him go. "Good night, Charlie." Charlie nods.  
"Good night, Mattie."

…

He first goes to see the snow. It's white and cold and sticks to his eyelashes. He bottles some of the cold air into a tiny bottle, and then mails it to Mattie.

…

He goes all around after that, before eventually booking himself a flight to New Zealand, to go somewhere where it snowed all the time. On the plane, having been over a year since he last saw his father, he pens a letter.

'Dad.

I hope you can read this. At the moment, I'm sitting in a plane on my way to New Zealand. I always told you that I'd love to travel, and now I am. If you're wondering, I'm not working at the moment. I resigned from the Police last year, to travel, and see Australia. I saved money from odd jobs, as well as what I already had. I don't know if I'll ever come back to Australia, and if I do, I might not go back to Melbourne. Or Ballarat. I want to be free.

I can't leave things the way they are, so one of us will have to be the grown up and write. I know you must be horribly disappointed in me, but that's alright. I know that I did the right thing by the Doctor, and I suppose that I did the right thing by Lawson. Even so, I miss you horribly. I hope if I ever come back, we can have a sit down and talk. I'd really like that. I'd even bake those biscuits that you like.

I love you.

Charlie. '

As the flight drags on, he also decides to pen a letter to the Doctor, whom he hasn't seen in just as long.

'Lucien Blake.

Sorry I didn't see you before I left, but you were the one who pissed off to A. with Mrs Beazley. I hope Mattie gave you my message. I'm sorry it's been so long since I last wrote, I've just been busy. I'm going to New Zealand now. I don't know if I'll like there or not, but given that I spent all my money to get here, let's hope I do. I don't mind sleeping it rough a few nights.

It's good to get out and see the world. It feels like I might be free.

It's a wonderful feeling.

Love.

Charlie.'

It's short and to the point, but he hopes the doctor appreciates them. He mails them as soon as he gets off the plane.

…

When he gets the letter the first thing William does is call the Doctor.

"Doctor Blake's surgery."  
"Is the doctor in."  
"May I ask who's calling?"  
"No."

There's a pause and a scuffle, and then the light voice is replaced by a much deeper one.

"Doctor Blake speaking."  
"Where the hell is my baby?" In his panic, Munro calls Charlie his baby rather then his son. He doesn't even notice.  
"Ah William. I assume you're calling after Charlie. I'm afraid I have no idea where he is."  
"Don't play games with me, Blake, where is my son?"  
"His letter said New Zealand."  
"I know." He said, and there is a pause. And then he hangs up without saying goodbye. He looks into Charlie's dusty room, everything is still as ruined as it had been a year ago. He slowly begins to clean the room up.

…

He spends two years in New Zealand.

…

He comes home in the third year. He comes to Queensland. Goes to Brisbane, meets up with an old flame. On his way to the hotel, his taxi is hit by another car, and they roll over, and over and over and then it's all still.

And Charlie can't move anything, and oddly enough, his last thought is 'thank god I don't have anyone listed as my next of kin'

…

He wakes up in the hospital and he can't move at all. It's miserable.

…

It's a month before the nurses will let him see his face. The left side is covered with a huge scrape, the right, dozens of glass shards had made a mess of it. His nose didn't work anymore. He looked like a mess.

He didn't look like his father and a tiny bit of him is so grateful.

…

It takes him a further two years to be able to walk reasonably competently. His face had scarred beyond anyway that he used to look. Only his eyes really looked the same to him, even if the nurses told him he was still handsome, he knew it was a lie they probably said to everyone with facial dis figuration. They ask him constantly if he has family but he says no it's just him.

It's oddly freeing.

…

He is eventually able to walk with just crutches. He debates going traveling again, but after five years of being away he decides that he want to go home.

…

He takes the first bus to Ballarat.

…

It's very late when the Taxi pulls up in front of the Blake house. He pays with the very last of his money, and then slides out, the driver brings his suitcase for him. He stands, and admires the way that the building looks. He stands there for a long time, he must lose track of time because now the door is open and there is a figure on the door step, dressed in a dark blue dressing gown. They gaze at him, and he gazes at them. It can't be anyone other then the Doctor, its not possible.

The figure runs, and gathers him up in strong arms. "Charlie!" He said, holding him close, his feet must leave the ground or something because the Doctor's hold on him is so strong. Eventually he pulls back, and rubs both of his thumbs over what's left of his face, over his repaired nose, and pulls him close again "Oh Charlie." He breathes, pressing his nose into his hair the way his father did. It takes him quite a while, but Charlie does hug him back.

"Doc.' He smiled. Blake pulled back and looked at him again.  
"Where's your coat? It's freezing out here." Blake said, letting Charlie go. Charlie adjusted his grip on the crutches, and offered him a small smile.  
"I misplaced it." Blake sighed softly.  
"Come inside, I'll make you some tea and you ca tell me where you've been." He laughs softly. "Everyone will be excited to see you." Blake assures him.

…

Later, sitting on the couch, with his head on Blake's shoulder, looking into the burning fire, a cup of tea in cold fingers, he realizes that this is what home must feel like.

He can't think of one reason why he'd ever want to leave again. He'd found what he was looking for. He'd found his family. He realizes that if Munro wants to be a part of it or not, they're still his family, and he'll be okay, whatever he chooses.


End file.
